


nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy

by lizwillstealyourgirl



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 27 Years Later (IT), Aged-Up Losers Club (IT), Canon-Typical Behavior, Comedian Richie Tozier, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Gay Richie Tozier, M/M, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Minor Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Minor Original Character(s), Non-Chronological, Not Canon Compliant, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Stanley Uris Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2020-12-28 04:40:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21130799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizwillstealyourgirl/pseuds/lizwillstealyourgirl
Summary: Richie and Eddie as the years go by, after 27 have already passed.(Not chronological. No plot. All in the same AU.)





	1. moments p.1 (eleven)

**Author's Note:**

> just a quick chronological explanation if u want that! will put it in the end notes too :)
> 
> fall in love > cuddle > tell the losers > leave eddie’s wife > tell richie’s family > get engaged > get married > fight > are famous > have a dog > meet the boyfriend
> 
> ALSO PLEASE ENJOY THIS DRABBLE COLLECTION!!! i'm really on a reddie kick right now

**** **the one where they have a dog**

When Eddie swings his bedroom door open, there are a few things he expects to see. Richie might be there, or maybe their dog, maybe on the bed or sitting at the desk or even on the floor. What Eddie  _ isn’t _ expecting to see is Richie laying on the bed, half asleep, with Molly on his chest, head tucked under Richie’s arm, nose on resting just below his collarbone, eyes wide open and ears perked upwards as Richie mumbles at her deliriously.

“You’re just the sweetest little baby, aren’t you?” Richie says. Eddie pulls the door shut behind him, but not all the way, so as not to disturb the tranquil scene ahead of him. When Molly’s tongue darts out to lick Richie’s chin, he lifts his head up and away, scrunching his face up with a giggle. “Why do you do that? We were having a nice moment there. Why’d you lick me? Fucking weirdo.”

Eddie grins, but still, Richie doesn’t notice him standing there, leaning against the doorframe. “Molly-moo, you’re a nasty girl. A sloppy bitch indeed. Hah!” Richie cuts himself off to laugh, eyes still screwed shut. “No, you’re not a sloppy bitch. Pennywise is a sloppy bitch. You’re the sweetest bitch around. The best bitch. Love you, Molly-moo, even though you lick my face all the time. That tongue went into your asshole. Stop licking me.”

“Now you’re being gross,” Eddie says, finally interrupting the two of them. “Her tongue is probably cleaner than yours, trashmouth.”

“Eddie!” Richie cheers, opening his eyes to look at Eddie beside him. Molly squirms in Richie’s hold, but doesn’t make a move to stand; instead, she props herself up a little bit further to watch Eddie too. “Hey. I love you. How was your day?”

“Hi, Rich,” Eddie responds lightly. He drops a kiss on Richie’s nose, and then on Molly’s. “It was good. Super disgusting. Before you tell me about yours, where the monster?”

“Why do you insist on calling my child a monster? He’s probably tearing apart the couch again. Or he’s locked in the bathroom. I don’t know, Molly and I are cuddling. Fuck Mickey.”

Eddie scoffs, and peers out around the open door of their room. Their cat is creeping down the hallway, and at the sight of Eddie, begins running. The bells around his collar prompts Molly to jump up, paws coming to land on Richie’s stomach. “Ugh,” Richie shouts around a groan. “Molls, you’re so big, get off a’ me.”

“She wants to eat the monster,” Eddie comments, and as he slides off his shoes, Mickey comes bouncing around the corner. He jumps onto the bed beside Molly, who nudges at his jaw until he rolls over onto his back and lifts up his hands in defense. She then lays down, resting her nose on the side of his belly, and crosses her arms under her chin. Richie doesn’t look away from Eddie as he scratches at the spot on her head between her ears. “Okay, make some room.”

Richie scoots over half of an inch to the right, which isn’t really enough, but Eddie doesn’t really care. He knows, at 43 years old, he’ll certainly regret the decision, but he still proceeds to lay down, half on top of Richie and half on the bed itself, an arm wrapped around his husband’s waist and head resting on his shoulder. “Now tell me about your day.”

Eddie feels more than he hears Richie laughing underneath him. When Richie answers, telling stories about how weird his manager was that morning and how funny Molly was when he got home and how Mickey woke him up from an afternoon nap earlier, Eddie pushes his chest in closer to the vibrations coming from Richie as he speaks. He could stay like that forever, holding and being held by Richie, their dog and cat curled up beside them, speaking in dulcet tones that fade into the sunset as it peaks through their bedroom window. He forgets all about the backaches he’ll surely have from laying down like this, the headache he’s been nursing all morning, the patients he had to help and the ones he didn’t manage to; he forgets about everything except his little paper family, stitched together with a thread made out of everything Eddie could have ever wanted.

At some point, Eddie mumbles into the fabric of Richie’s t-shirt, “I love you.”

And at some point, Richie strokes the back of Eddie’s head and clasps their hands together and whispers back to him, “I love you too.”

  
  


**the one where they tell the losers**

Richie has spent a whole lot of his life living half of a lie. 27 years of his life, gone, and technically, even more; he couldn’t remember the town he was from, the people he knew, the places he went, the friends he made. Sometimes, he would forget his little sister’s birthday, because it was in the summer and summers were always foggiest for Richie.

He’s spent most of his life living a reality someone else concocted for him. He didn’t even know who he was for any of it, either, but the one thing he always knew — always held onto, always kept close to his chest — was that he was in love.

He just didn’t know  _ who _ .

And then it’s 27 years later, and Richie is 40 fucking years old, and he sees him — Eddie Kaspbrak,  _ him _ — for the first time in decades and he knows,  _ immediately _ , that it’s  _ him _ . It’s always been him.

In some ways, Richie gets to fall in love with Eddie all over again. In another way, Richie was never  _ not _ in love with Eddie; he just stopped  _ existing _ for a while.

And now they’re here. Only a month later, and Eddie is finally out of the hospital, and they’re all back in New York, all taking Eddie home to tell Myra it’s over, and Eddie and Richie have been making out in between check-ups with the nurses for three weeks now but they’re already saying  _ I love you _ and they haven’t told  _ anyone _ , not a soul, but now they’re  _ here  _ —  _ here! In front of Eddie’s soon-to-be ex-wife’s home _ — and Richie can’t keep his mouth shut any longer.

“Can we tell them?” Richie asks Eddie, quiet enough that nobody hears him, but they’re the Losers, so everyone knows there’s something going on in the front seat. Everyone watches.

Eddie falters, like he’s surprised more than he is afraid. “Are you sure?” he asks. “Didn’t you want to wait?”

That’s not  _ technically  _ what Richie said. Richie actually said,  _ Eddie, I’ve been gay my whole life, you forgot you were gay for a couple decades. Let’s figure this out before we tell anyone. _

They’ve figured it out now. “I’m ready,” Richie says, honestly, and Eddie shrugs. It’s only a partial answer, but it’s  _ Eddie and Richie, _ so Richie understands. Now, they’re here, parked at a stoplight only three minutes from Myra Kaspbrak’s home, and Richie turns to the full car he’s driving and says, 

“Eddie and I are together.”

There’s silence. Then, there’s an, “I fucking knew it!” from Beverly and a jolt of laughter and a, “Fucking finally,” from Bill and cheering and groaning and somewhere in the midst of it all, Stan says something like, “Ew, gross.”

It’s perfect. It’s everything Richie could’ve asked for. They’re parked at a stoplight only three minutes from Myra Kaspbrak’s home, half a mile away from Eddie throwing out the life he’s built for the last 20-something years and starting a new one with Richie, 2,640 feet away from the Everything that Richie’s ever wanted as it Begins Again, and in the backseat of Richie’s car is the best friends he’s ever known, and the best people that anyone ever loved or met or knew, and Eddie’s leaning across the center console and pressing one of Those Kisses to his lips — the kind that makes Richie forget how to talk, that makes his lips go numb — and the planet feels like it’s been righted on its axis.

  
  


**the one where they get engaged**

If there’s one thing Eddie is good at, it’s planning things.

Maybe that’s a lie. Often, Eddie plans things quite well, but the moment he’s faced with any form of adversity, the plan is tossed out the window and lit on fire. Eddie is good at  _ planning _ . At pressure, he’s absolute fucking garbage.

So that must be why tonight is going to be a shitshow. Eddie feels it in his gut. Tonight will be the worst, it’ll be the worst thing ever, Richie will dump him or  _ worse _ — worse, he’ll like, leave him but date a different Loser, like date Bill  _ and  _ Mike, so it’s a thrupple instead of a couple — and Eddie will never find love again (he could never find anyone like Richie, and not just in a  _ He’s The One _ way but also in a  _ He’s The Weirdest Guy I’ve Ever Met, I Love Him So Much _ way) and he’ll just die. Sad. Alone. Sitting in a rickety old rocking chair that’s next to the one that Richie was supposed to sit in too.

“Eds,” Richie says, breaking Eddie from the spell of his thoughts. They’re in the living room, watching The Great British Baking Show, and Eddie’s tucked under Richie’s arm while Molly’s sitting on Richie’s lap, and it should be easy. They have a dog now. Why is Eddie even worried? “Are you alright?”

And Eddie’s worried all over again.

“Yeah,” he lies smoothly (too smoothly, if he’s honest). “I’m good, honey.”

_ Honey _ . Eddie usually throws out swear words in lieu of pet names, but when it’s just the two of them, it’s easier to let the sweet things slip out. He uses  _ honey _ and  _ babe _ pretty frequently. Richie calls him all sorts of things, though:  _ love _ and  _ sweetheart  _ and _ honey bear  _ and _ sweetie pie  _ and _ baby  _ and _ sunshine _ and a couple weird, funny things too, and Richie’s so good at being good to Eddie, but Eddie’s so  _ not _ . He tries to be anyway.

“Are you sure? You just seem a little tense, love,” and  _ there it is! _ Eddie thinks.  _ Love. Love love love love love love love- _

“Eddie?”

He can’t take it anymore. He can’t do this. He can’t wait, he has to get it over with, he’ll go insane if he waits any longer, so he spins in his spot under Richie’s arm and his knee is digging into Richie’s stomach now a little bit neither of them seem to mind, and he reaches into the pocket of the jacket he left slung over the side of the couch and pulls out the little red box he’s carried around for the last six months. He can’t look at Richie’s eyes, and he tries to ignore the little stutter he hears in Richie’s breath.

“This was supposed to happen at dinner tonight,” Eddie explains. “With the Losers. We have it all planned out. Mike’s going to drop his phone at your feet and when you pick it up, you’ll look at it, ‘cause you always do, and it’s a thing that says  _ will you marry me _ , and then I’m on one knee and — it’s a whole thing. But I can’t wait anymore.”

Eddie sighs, and finally, he looks up at Richie, who’s pulled his lower lip between his teeth and he’s bringing Molly closer to his chest. Every time he looks at Richie, he isn’t afraid anymore. “I’ve been in love with you since we were kids,” Eddie says.

“I mean, technically, we forgot each other for, like, 20-something years, but you were there, you know the story. And I was still in love with you. There was this empty space in — ugh, this is so cheesy — in my heart, you know? Where you used to be. And then I found you again, and I never want to lose you. I spent our whole childhood getting to know you, and I feel like I know you pretty - pretty well, and you know me better than anyone else, a-and I don’t want to get to know anyone else. I want to spend the rest of my life, every fucking day, getting to know you all over again.”

Now, Eddie slides to the floor, and he can see that Richie’s crying from this angle, and Richie’s a pretty ugly crier, so it’s kind of funny. It soothes the nerves for sure. He puts his hand on Richie’s, the one that’s holding onto Molly, not the one that’s wiping snot off his face, and he flips open the box.

It’s a gold band. It’s simple, almost completely bare, except for the three teensy-tiny diamonds at the top, and the little  _ R+E _ that’s carved into the bottom. That way, the whole world can see it too. Eddie pulls it out, and pushes the box off the couch.

“Richie Tozier,” Eddie starts again. “I’ve been in love with you since we were kids. I don’t think there’s a world where I could ever be anything  _ but _ in love with you. You’re a dick, you’re the worst, you make weird and insensitive jokes about banging my dead mom, and there’s no one else out there that I love like I love you. Will you marry me?”

Richie’s crying, and it’s  _ ugly _ , but it’s beautiful too, because he nods furiously and sticks his hand out for Eddie to slide the ring on, and Eddie surges up and presses a kiss — sloppy and slick with tears and  _ ew _ ,  _ snot _ — to Richie’s lips, and it’s all against the plan, but  _ fuck the plan _ . What they have here? The little family they’ve built together, out of playing cards and arcade token and killer alien clowns and cute three-legged pitbulls that snore like semi-trucks and old gay men who forgot they were gay for a couple decades? None of it was ever planned.  _ Fuck the plan _ . The world Eddie and Richie made for each other is a million fucking times better than any plan ever could be.

  
  


**the one where they’re famous**

Eddie actually likes holding hands with Richie.

It’s kind of cute to him. Juvenile. They didn’t get the regular childhood sweetheart things; instead, they forget either of them ever even existed in the first place. They weren’t each other’s first kisses, first boyfriends, whatever — well, Richie was some of those things for Eddie; Eddie hadn’t ever been with a guy before Richie, having fucking  _ forgotten he was gay _ , something he discovered back in the summer before junior year when Richie started lifeguarding at the public pool, and then rediscovered upon seeing Richie at the Chinese restuarant in Derry when they were  _ 40 fucking years old _ .

Anyways. Holding hands. It makes Eddie feel like a teenager again, and there’s nothing Eddie wouldn’t give to go back in time and tell Richie how he felt — maybe the night before Richie left Derry, or that one day in the clubhouse when Richie touched his knee and shot sparks of electricity up his body, or during their 12th grade physics class, when they were partners for the whole year and had sleepovers almost three times a week, and even more on the weekends. But he can’t do that, so instead, he’ll just hold onto Richie’s hand a little bit tighter than he would have otherwise, kiss him a little bit firmer, love him a little bit louder, so he never misses another chance again.

And because of that, he holds Richie’s hand everywhere they go. The grocery store, the living room, the hospital, the post office, and now, here,  _ the Emmys _ . Eddie’s married to a guy that gets Emmy Awards. Yeah. That’s his  _ husband _ .

Richie’s Netflix Special — _ Richie Tozier: Yes, I’m Gay, Get Over It _ — came out maybe six months ago, and already, they’re here. At  _ the _ Emmy Awards Ceremony. Richie pulled some strings and the whole Losers Club is here, along with their spouses and the eldest children (ie, Stan’s wife, Patty, and Bill and Mike’s daughter, Morgan), and the whole walk down the red carpet and to their little round table, Eddie holds on  _ tight  _ to Richie’s hand. His manager doesn’t even ask Eddie to let go for some solo pictures of Richie, and Richie drags him to all the interviews, introducing him each time as,  _ This is Eddie, my husband _ .

Eddie’s never been so fucking proud in his life, never been so in love, and if Richie doesn’t win this goddamn Emmy, Eddie will be very, very upset. Molly is at home and she deserves a new little trophy to chew on (not that Richie’s Writers Guild of America Award isn’t enough for her; he won that one from a show he didn’t even write).

“Here are the nominees for  _ Writing for a Variety Special _ .”

There are a list of names Eddie doesn’t give a fuck about, and Richie’s holding onto his hand, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and to his left, Bill is giggling, but what Eddie  _ does _ care about is the clip of Richie’s show they use. It’s only a few seconds long, completely out of context, but it’s the best one they could’ve possibly chosen.

“I like to remind people my husband willingly has sex with me,” An on-screen Richie says, and the audience (both of the video and at the actual ceremony) laughs. “Because people don’t always believe me! He’s so out of my league. He’s a hot doctor. I love him so much. Sometimes, he-”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie’s voice calls, and the real-life Eddie blushes. Richie hadn’t run the joke by him, he was taken by surprise, but he  _ knew _ Richie was going to talk about something gross and not appropriate for the whole world to hear, so. He beeped him.

“Apparently, I  _ can’t _ tell you all about our sex life. What a shame. Oh, the fun we could’ve had.”

The audience laughs again, and the clips ends and moves onto another. Behind him, Ben says something, but Eddie doesn’t hear anything. He just spins in his seat and grabs onto Richie’s jaw and pulls him in for a kiss that lasts until Eddie tunes back into the real world and hears the words, “And the Emmy for  _ Outstanding Writing for a Variety Special _ goes to…”

Eddie pulls away, tearing his lips off Richie’s. For a second, Richie pouts, but immediately, he blinks the disappointment away and smiles. Eddie loves him so so so so so so so much.

“Richie Tozier.”

Richie blinks. Eddie squawks at him indignantly, and punches him halfheartedly in the gut. “Go,” he screeches, and Richie barks out a laugh that has Eddie feeling dizzy.

“Come up with me,” Richie insists, and before Eddie can say no, the hand that is still interlocked with Richie’s is used to pull him up and towards the stage.

Eddie doesn’t fight it, because he knows he’ll be more embarrassed if he puts up a fight and loses (especially since he actually could kick Richie’s ass, but what’s the point?), but he’s still blushing a furious red, so he tucks his face into Richie’s shoulder.

“Um,” Richie says into the microphone, so Eddie lets himself unfurl from his hiding spot to watch his husband with wide, curious, lovestruck eyes. “First of all, I want to say that I am clearly the least funny person on that list, which is really - really important to note.” The audience laughs. Richie has a way with making everyone feel okay. “Wow, no, really, thank you all so much for this. Um-” Richie breaks off to laugh too. His eyes are a little watery, but Eddie can barely see it under the spotlight. He can, however, see the little freckles that stretch across the bridge of his nose, and he falls in love all over again.

“So, I’m gonna thank the crew that worked on this with me, my amazing director, my manager, all of my improv coaches back in college, you were all greasy, lame, fuckheads, and I love you all so much.” He pauses to let the audience laugh again. “There’s so many people to thank. I didn’t plan a speech, I was so sure I was gonna lose — fucking  _ Michelle Wolf _ was up there, what - what was I supposed to do?” Everyone laughs again.

“Uh, anyway. Thank you to the Losers Club, that table of fucking weirdos over there-” Richie points with the award, and Eddie grins immediately at the group of them cheering dramatically. Bill and Beverly are jumping around and clapping, and Morgan is filming it on her phone, giggling uncontrollably. Patty and Ben are laughing, and Mike and Stan look simultaneously overjoyed and devastated. “My best friends since middle school, I love you all, thank you for telling me every day that I’m not funny but still laughing at my jokes, you keep me humble.”

“And finally,” Richie says, and cranes his neck to Eddie, and Eddie blushes and groans, throwing his head back like he doesn’t want to be there when really, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. “Most of all, I want to thank my husband. The love of my life. You all saw the clip, and you see him now, you know he’s way out of my league, he could do so much better but he hasn’t, so I got lucky.” Eddie laughs, and squeezes the hand he’s got wrapped around Richie’s. He knows his cheeks are pink, but he doesn’t give a shit. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Thank you for helping me write all my material, and for naming our dog Molly because when we were 15 I told you it was objectively the best name for a drug, and for writing the tweet I named my special after, and — well, I don’t know. Thank you for everything. I’d ask you to marry me, but you already beat me to that like a year ago, so. Just. Thank you.”

Eddie kisses him, right there, hand-in-hand on a TV show that the whole world can see. He doesn’t care about who’s watching. All he cares about is Richie, and the Emmy in his hand, and their best friends in the entire world screaming Richie’s name.

  
  


**the one where they tell richie’s family**

Richie is 40 years old, which is a little late to come out, but here he is. 40 years old, and finally coming out.

What sucks is it’s not like he can say,  _ I only just realized _ . He’s always known, and he’s always hid it.  _ I don’t have time to date, Mom, I’m really busy, I’m touring, I’m never home _ , all this bullshit that never meant anything in the long run, all just so he never had to say the words out loud:  _ I’m gay _ .

Instead of saying it, he just sucked faceless dude’s dicks in grimey club bathrooms and hoped that spoke for itself. Not like his parents would ever know that.

They’re not Republican, or conservative, or anything, but they are  _ old _ . They’re old enough that they were around when being gay was _ sick _ , and Richie’s old enough that he was around when being gay got you sick, which means they’re all too old for Richie to be coming home for Christmas _ now _ and saying, “Hey, Tozier family, I’m a raging homosexual and this is my boyfriend!”

And yet, that’s exactly what he’s doing. He hasn’t planned a second of it, beyond that he warned his little sister Rebecca that he was bringing Eddie, to which she very knowingly responded,  _ Finally _ . He warned Eddie too, that this was him coming out, and Eddie was, more than anything, deeply entertained that Richie had spent his entire adult life knowing he was gay and not saying a word to anyone in his personal life or family.

“Eddie Kaspbrak,” Richie’s mom says upon their arrival, pulling him in for a hug before she even looks at Richie. “Why, it’s been so long. I didn’t know you and Richie even spoke anymore. Oh, dear, it’s been so long.”

Maggie always loved Eddie. All of Richie’s family did. It was the one reason Richie was a little bit less afraid than he would’ve been otherwise. Eddie smiles at her, all bright and blinding just the way Richie likes it, and he tells her, “Well, we had a little reunion a few months ago.”

“Oh, sure! Yes, I remember. You all came back to Derry for a few days. Oh, honey, you’ve grown to be such a handsome fellow.”

“Hi, Mom,” Richie says from behind Eddie, and Maggie simply laughs.

“Richard, I’m having a moment with Eddie, you’ll get your turn next.” Eddie blushes under the scrutiny, but he doesn’t really mind, so he grins and turns back to Maggie. She pats his cheeks. “Well, later tonight, you’ll tell me everything you’re up to, alright? But it’s been almost 30 years, so for now, we’ll just… come back to that.”

Eddie nods and agrees easily, so Maggie presses a kiss to Richie’s cheek. “Hi, Mom,” he says again, and kisses her cheek too. She beams at him, and brushes a hand through her hair.

“Come inside, you two,” she says, barrelling through the niceties with Richie. It’s cold, and I’m an old lady. I’ll die out here.”

Richie laughs, but for a second, Eddie doesn’t know if he’s allowed to. He still follows Richie inside, and brushes their hands against each other for a brief second. It’s the best they’ll get until later.

Then it’s later, and they’re at the dinner table, and Richie can’t wait any longer. _ It’s now or never, _ he tells himself. Rebecca passes Wentworth the mashed potatoes, and Eddie slides the vegetables over to Richie, and over a mouthful of green beans, Richie blurts out, “I have something to tell you guys.”

The table freezes. Rebecca’s husband is a sweet young man named Dave, and he’s somehow both unassuming and confident, but here, he has no idea what to do. Maggie sets her fork down and places her napkin on the table, so everyone does the same. She clears her throat and puts her hand out to hold onto Richie’s elbow, which is leaning on the table in the way his grandmother always hated, and Maggie says, “Go ahead, honey.”

Eddie calls Richie  _ honey _ too. Maybe that’s what makes Richie feel so brave.  _ You’re braver than you think _ . If Eddie can be brave, Richie surely could be too.

“I’m gay,” he says, straightforward, no point in beating around the bush, and Wentworth’s fork clatters and Rebecca’s muffles a laugh via cough into her fist and Eddie kicks him under the table and it feels like the whole world has stopped.

“Oh,” Maggie replies, but her hand doesn’t move. Doesn’t even falter. She doesn’t even flinch. “I didn’t realize, dear. Wow.”

“I know I’m super late, ‘cause I’m super old, but. Yeah. I’m gay. I’ve known for a while, but there was no point in telling you, because - well, there was no reason. No one I was seeing. There was, uh, no Eddie.” Eddie blushes, but Richie keeps talking. It’s what he’s good at. “And it was, I don’t know, it was the 80’s, I was a kid. They used to call me  _ four-eyed faggot _ . I was afraid. But now, it’s 2016, and there’s an Eddie again, you know, and I intend to keep him around, so. It’s time you all knew.”

Went picks his fork off the table and brushes it off with his napkin. “Richie, I mean, we - we didn’t know, but…”

He trails off, so Maggie fills in the gaps. She squeezes Richie’s hand. “We always had a feeling you two were something  _ more _ . You reminded us of, well,  _ us _ , back when we were in high school. And I’m so proud of you for telling us, honey. And you too, Eddie. For being here.”

Eddie blushes, and looks at Richie. He puts his hand on Richie’s knee. The  _ I love you _ goes unsaid but Richie hears it all the same. Went continues and says, “All we ever wanted for you and Rebecca was to be happy. If Eddie’s your happy, then that’s all there is to it. We’re happy when you are.”

Richie doesn’t realize he’s crying until Rebecca throws her napkin at him. He laughs wetly and chucks it back at her, aiming for her head. He shoots, he scores, but Eddie pinches his bicep for it. “Knock it off, asshole, you’re not in middle school anymore.”

“If we were in middle school, I would’ve-” Richie starts, but Eddie cuts him off again.

“Oh, stuff it, trashmouth,” he squawks, and Maggie and Wentworth laugh, because it’s  _ Eddie and Richie _ , it’s the way they’ve always been, and it’s just as perfect as ever. 

  
  


**the one where they meet the boyfriend**

“She’s 15, Richie,” Eddie says, all exasperated, and Richie is torn between pressing kisses to his cheeks that are turning pink with anger and also punching him in the gut.

Riche sighs, groans, flops backwards on the bed, tugs at his hair, all of it. He’s having a teenage level of angst meltdown. “I know that,” Richie responds. “That’s my point. When I was 15, I had two thoughts: 1, _ oh my God, I definitely forgot to do my homework _ , and 2,  _ oh wow, I’m horny. _ ”

“That was your personality when you were 15?” Eddie deadpans. “That’s all you were? A half empty skull with two fucking trains of thought and nothing else?”

“Correct,” Richie agrees easily, and Eddie sighs. He gets up, and moves to lie down next to Richie on the bed, tucking himself against Richie’s waist. Like instinct, Richie wraps one arm around Eddie’s shoulders, and another on Eddie’s thighs, fingers mindlessly tracing lines on the exposed skin.

“Honey,” Eddie says, because that always works best. “Meeting him isn’t us saying we’re happy with her decision. It’s not even us saying we’re okay with it. It’s just like,  _ Hi, you’re our daughter’s boyfriend, and we objectively hate you regardless of how well we know you, but she’s old enough to make her own decisions _ .”

Richie whines pitifully, but he knows Eddie’s right. “Yeah,” he agrees after a minute or so passes. “I like that. We should tell Dee that.  _ We love you, but you’re wrong. _ It’s perfect.”

Eddie laughs and whacks Richie’s stomach with the back of his hand, but he doesn’t pull away. “Sure,” he responds, now tired from the weight of their conversation. Their daughter has a boyfriend and Eddie would rather avoid thinking about that forever, thanks. “I love you,” he says instead of the  _ everything else _ he still hasn’t gotten off his chest. 

Richie grins, and pulls him in closer. “I love you too.”

When they finally meet him — his name is Mason Crow, and he’s technically a very nice boy, even if Richie wants to knock him out on sight — they’re mostly just surprised by him. He’s almost as tall as Richie, which Eddie finds extremely frustrating, because he feels less intimidating when he’s shorter. He takes it as an opportunity to be the cool dad, which is usually Richie, and jokes around with Dee in the way he only ever seems to do when the only people watching are Losers. Dee takes all of it in stride, as does Mason. Eddie is impressed.

Not only is Mason tall, he’s also smart. Dee brags about his grades a little, how they’re in Honors Chem together and Mason’s the top of his class, a 13-something on the PSAT, and she does the thing that Richie does whenever he talks about how smart Eddie is, waving her hands around and sitting up a little bit straighter. It makes both Eddie and Richie feel achy and shattered inside.

He calls Dee by her full name. Dipanwita. There’s something that sparkles and flutters in Eddie’s chest every time he says it, not because he says it right (although he does) or because he’s doing something right (although he is), but because each time, Dee has this look of surprise like she’s forgotten he knows her name.

At the end of the night, Dee walks outside and before she shuts the door, she says, “I’m gonna let you guys do your dad thing to him, but don’t be too mean to him.” Then, she turns to Mason, and tells him, “Come outside when you’re done. I’ll walk you to your car.”

She closes the door, and Eddie looks at Richie expectantly. Richie shrugs. “I didn’t plan anything,” he hisses defensively. 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Why would I have planned anything? I don’t care if Dee has a boyfriend.”

“You definitely care,” Richie points out, and rightfully so. In front of them, Mason is grinning a little bit. (Yes, it warms Richie’s heart. No, he will not say that out loud.)

“Mason,” Eddie says now, turning away from Richie instead of bickering. “I don’t have a shovel talk. Just understand that while Dee is fiercely loved by her two fathers as well as four very prominent uncle figures and two aunts, she is also a big girl and I taught her how to hurt boys back in the fourth grade. If you are a dick, she  _ absolutely _ will kick your ass.”

Richie hums his agreement. “Couldn’t have said it better myself, baby,” he whoops. Eddie rolls his eyes and gestures for him to speak anyway. “Oh, um… Yeah, no, Eds said it well. Uh, Dee knows the location of the testicles and the best way to permanently damage them. If you want them to ever be useful for anything at all, I suggest you keep the relationship between you two honest and healthy and not fucking garbage.”

“Also, if you two are going to have sex, and she tries to pull something on you  _ while _ we’re home, both of you will be murdered. Swiftly.” Eddie’s input is met with sharp nodding from Mason and snapping from Richie.

“Oh, yes, good addition, thank you honey. Otherwise, I don’t care. But if I hear it happening, I  _ will _ kill you and then myself. Hon, I don’t want to think about Dee having sex anymore, ugh, I’m done with this conversation.”

“Seriously,” Eddie says, putting a hand on Mason’s shoulder. Mason doesn’t look afraid, but he does look very serious too. Like he gives a shit. “Be good to her. Let her be good to you. All that shit. High school is four years of absolute bullshit. Just - I don’t know - love each other. And stuff.”

“Okay, go make out in your car for fifteen minutes while we pretend we don’t know. It was nice to meet you, Mason,” Richie says, and pushes the door open.

“It was nice to meet you too, Mr. and Mr. Kaspbrak,” Mason responds, and reaches out to shake their hands. They accept it, and on his way out, Richie claps Mason’s shoulders. “Thank you,” Mason adds, and he looks like he’d say more, but Richie is gesturing for him to go to Dee now, so Mason just grins.

“We did good,” Eddie says. Richie high-fives him.

“Yeah,” Richie tells him, and, “I love you,” and then he kisses Eddie warmly. Richie’s hand on Eddie’s waist, Eddie’s hand on Richie’s chest, Richie’s nose tucked into the fleshy part of Eddie’s cheek. Their kid can see. Their kid’s boyfriend can see. They don’t care at all.

  
  


**the one where they cuddle**

After killing It — after almost dying themselves — it became a staple of almost every night to have a nightmare. Richie watched a killer alien clown  _ thing _ as it did its best to literally tear about the love of his life; how could he  _ not _ be traumatized?

At first, Eddie experienced the bulk of the nightmares. There were a few weeks, when Eddie was in the hospital, that had Richie sleeping in the chair at Eddie’s bedside and holding his hand so he knew he wasn’t alone. Once Eddie wouldn’t die under the weight of Richie’s body, they started crawling under the covers together, curling into each other’s arms to feel safe. For a while, Richie thought he’d never have a nightmare.

Richie was wrong.

It was like his mind was waiting until Eddie was better to start dreaming, and then it all came flooding out at once. Richie went from dream-free nights to waking up three, four, five times from the feeling of clown hands wrapped around his neck — and then to not sleeping at all. For Richie, avoiding sleep seemed like the perfect solution; drink some coffee, take some Adderall, and it’ll all be okay.

Again. Richie was  _ wrong _ .

He didn’t notice how far he had spiraled until, well,  _ now _ . He hasn’t slept in almost a week, hasn’t even  _ attempted _ to; whenever Eddie shuts his eyes, Richie always says he’ll be just a minute before creeping out to the backyard and smoking until he sees the sun. It was working. It was  _ fine _ , except maybe it wasn’t, because now, Eddie’s figured it out.

Richie is sitting on the porch, feet hanging off the side. They’re at a little cabin in Northern California, in Tahoe. His ashtray is to the left of him, and the manuscript for Bill’s latest, half-finished book is to the right. He’s peaceful. He’s okay. He’s awake and It is dead and if Richie goes to sleep, nothing will be okay anymore.

But then he hears, “Is this where you’ve been all week?” and he knows he’s been caught.

Richie laughs nervously. “What do you mean?”

Eddie holds onto the railing to help himself sit down next to Richie, only a few inches from the ashtray. Close enough for Richie to touch if he were brave enough, if he let himself reach out and hold on tight. He isn’t brave enough. “You know what I mean,” Eddie scolds. “You’re sneaking out once I fall asleep. I thought you were — well, it’s dumb.”

“Tell me,” Richie insists, voice soft as he can make it.

Eddie scoffs, eyes watering under the moonlight. It’s almost midnight now. “I thought you were cheating on me,” Eddie admits meekly.

“Oh,” Richie responds dumbly. “No,” he continues, tongue heavy and weak in his mouth. “No, no, I wouldn’t — Eddie. I love you.”

Eddie smiles at him. It’s a little sad, only kind of reaches his eyes, but Richie loves it all the same. “I know. That’s why I followed you out here. I knew it was something else.”

Richie hums, and looks back out at the sky. He can see the stars here in a way he never could in Los Angeles. Maybe he and Eddie could move out here one day. He takes another drag from his cigarette, and carefully blows the smoke out away from Eddie’s face, hoping it doesn’t catch in the wind. Eddie turns a little, crossing the leg next to Richie’s underneath the other so he can face Richie better, even as Richie avoids looking at him. He puts his hand on Richie’s thigh.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he tries, voice a sort of plea. “I want to help you. I love you.”

Richie doesn’t really know how to say it.  _ You know how I said I never had nightmares? I was wrong! Every time I close my eyes, I see you die, so I’ve decided to never sleep again. That way, you’ll stay alive. _

It’s dumb. It’s so dumb. It’s the dumbest thing Richie’s ever come up with, but it’s also the only thing that’s been working out, so he just keeps going.

“It’s okay,” Richie lies. “I’m good, babe.”

“You’re lying,” Eddie says, a little bit sharply, and Richie almost flinches. “What is it? Anxiety? Drugs? Nightmares? I - I don’t know what’s happening to you. I just want to help.” 

“You can’t help,” Richie snaps. He takes a deep breath, and smashes the cigarette into the ashtray. He needs a new one anyway. Burying his face in his hands, he continues, “You can’t help, Eds. It’s not your fault, and it isn’t your problem. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I always worry about you,” Eddie says. “So it’s nightmares, huh? I saw the way your eye twitched when I said that. Bad dreams.”

Richie sighs. “What do you see?” Eddie asks, all soft and warm and Richie wants to drown in his voice. “When you have them?”

“Deadlights,” is all Richie can manage, but Eddie understands. Immediately, he knows.

Eddie stands and holds out a hand for Richie. Richie is hesitant, but he takes it instead of the menthol he craves. He stands too, back a little achy on the way up, and lets himself be pulled into one of those types of kisses that leave the taste of apple cider in your throat, the smell of pumpkin patches, with the feeling of autumn wrapping you up and choking you until all you see is something beautiful in front of you. When Eddie pulls away, his touch lingers, and Richie keeps his eyes shut a beat longer than he needs to. Eddie breathes out something that’s between a gasp and a laugh.

“Come inside,” Eddie insists. Richie is nothing if he isn’t listening to Eddie, no matter what. Sometimes, Eddie speaks in this voice, which means he’s serious and he means it and he knows exactly what to do. That’s when Richie feels his okay-est.

Eddie pulls him back to the bed, and lays him down first. This is where Richie normally wraps his arms around Eddie, but Eddie shushes him and presses his body against Richie’s back. Richie’s surprised at first, so he holds his breath like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, except Eddie pinches him with a breathy giggle. “Relax,” Eddie says. “I’ve got you.”

He does. He does. He does. Eddie’s got him.

Richie’s okay, because this time, when he closes his eyes, It remains dead, and Richie remains alive, and Eddie remains  _ there _ . It’s okay, because Eddie’s got him. 

  
  


**the one where they leave eddie’s wife**

“Myra,” Eddie starts, and Richie is listening from the door frame, because he’s stupid and simply can’t help himself. “We never loved each other. Not the way we were supposed to. You know that. We both know it.”

Myra huffs out indignantly, arms crossed in a show of defiance. “I always loved you, Eddie,” she insists with an upturned nose.

Eddie scoffs. “You loved  _ controlling _ me, except I’m not your fucking pawn. There’s nothing else to it, Myra. I’m leaving. I’m moving out, I’m divorcing you, I’m done. This isn’t me asking you to change my mind. I’m just telling you what’s happening.”

“No,” Myra argues. “Who will take care of you? You - you’re fragile. Soft. Oh, Eddie, love-”

Eddie looks like he wants to rip his hair out, and over Myra’s shoulder, he makes eye contact with Richie. Richie’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching with narrowed eyes glaring at Myra. He looks protective, but he also doesn’t look like he’s about to pounce. He’s ready if it comes to that, but he’ll keep watching silently unless he’s needed. That’s something Eddie loves about him. Richie will always be there if Eddie needs him, but never smother him. Richie blinks at Eddie, looks him up in down in some almost sexual ways, and then nods for Eddie to fight back. It gives him enough courage to say,

“Myra, I’m _ leaving _ . I need to get my  _ fucking _ Apple Watch, because I forgot it, and then I’m gone. Just let me through.”

Myra doesn’t fight back when Eddie pushes past her and grabs the Apple Watch off the table behind her. She doesn’t fight back when he slides it on his wrist, clips it into place. She doesn’t even fight back when he starts to walk away.  _ But _ she does fight back — a hand wrapped tight around Eddie’s wrist, not the one wearing the watch — when Richie reaches out for him.

“You’re gay now,” she says. “Is that it? You left me for a man? What did I do to you that was so wrong, Eddie? All I ever did was take care of you. Why are you like  _ this _ now?”

“I’ve always been fucking  _ gay _ , Myra,” Eddie says venomously. “I’m done here.” Myra isn’t holding on tight, but Eddie would never hit her. Richie, though, is not above that.

Eddie pulls on his wrist, but Myra doesn’t budge, so Richie puts a hand over hers. “Let go of him,” he says, voice deep in a way Eddie barely recognizes. He hasn’t said a word since their arrival, hasn’t cracked a  _ single _ bullshit joke, so it startles Myra and ties Eddie’s stomach into knots.

“Now,” Richie adds, and immediately, Myra complies. “Thank you,” he continues. “We’re leaving now. Sign the papers when they come. Or don’t. If you don’t, you’ll just be married to a guy who’s so far gone on my magic dick that he moved to California, so who will really be the winner then?”

When they make it outside, the Losers are all huddled by the car. The door closes behind them, and Eddie swoops in for a kiss, pulling Richie down and kissing him hard and fast, heads and hips tilting and swaying back and forth while hands trace lines over entire bodies. Eddie pulls away, breathless and flushed, and grins.

“I love you,” he says in lieu of an explanation. Maybe that is the explanation. “Almost as much as I love your magic dick.”

Richie throws his head back to laugh and Eddie’s sure he sees stars.

  
  


**the one where they fight**

Richie and Eddie, for as much as they love each other, certainly aren’t  _ perfect. _ Sometimes, they fight; Richie forgets to take the trash out or Eddie snaps at Richie left and right or they miss an anniversary or break a promise or whatever. Usually, the little things will come and go and fade away, forgotten. Sometimes, they fight, and it’s  _ bad _ . 

Richie prides himself on his ability to remember really important things. He never forgets Eddie’s birthday, or his mom’s, or any of the Losers’, even if he does sometimes forget to call. He never misses one of Eddie’s doctor appointments, or his own therapy sessions, or the check-ins with Molly’s vet. He’s old, he’s dumb, and he’s an ADHD meme on Twitter, but he remembers the important shit.

Eddie, on the other hand, sometimes forgets that stuff. On more than one occasion, he’s forgotten Richie’s birthday, or their anniversary, and it’s really not that big of a deal because he’s kind of just always been a little forgetful when he gets caught up in something, and he always makes up for it in all the ways he knows how, so it doesn’t usually piss Richie off, but today?

Today, yeah. Today it pisses Richie off.

It’s Richie’s launch party for his Netflix special,  _ Richie Tozier: Yes, I’m Gay, Get Over It _ . The title is derived from one of Eddie’s iconic tweets after Richie came out, a viral message to the world reading,  _ Okay! Yes! Richie Tozier is gay! GET OVER IT _ . For a while, it was Richie’s pinned tweet out of sheer fucking pride, but he later replaced it with the announcement of his special.

Anyways, it’s Richie’s launch party, and Eddie is 20 minutes late.

Richie forgets what they’re fighting about after a few minutes of passive-aggressive, hushed whispers that fill the room, now that everybody’s left. Eddie is just saying things, spitting fire, and Richie is doing the same, because they piss each other off just as much as they always did, even if they’re head over heels for each other, and it’s going back and forth and back and forth and back and forth until Eddie throws his hands up and spins on his heels and says, “Jesus, fuck, I give up!”

Richie doesn’t like the sound of that. They can fight, they can be angry beyond reason, they can toss expletives like they’re baseballs but  _ giving up _ sounds an awful lot to Richie like  _ breaking up _ . It’s within seconds that he’s rushing forward tearfully, grabbing hold of Eddie’s wrist and pulling him back. At first, Eddie’s lips are turned down in a scowl, but upon seeing Richie’s heartbroken face, he softens.

“Wha- Richie?” Eddie asks, voice light and almost wet.

Richie shakes his head and drops Eddie’s arms. “Don’t give up,” he asks and his voice cracks mid-plea. “I’m sorry. I hate fighting with you. I love you.”

Eddie reaches up and brushes his knuckles across Richie’s cheeks that are now donned in tear tracks. He wipes one that falls, and Richie doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed. “I love you too,” he responds gently. “Don’t worry, baby. It’s my fault for forgetting. We shouldn’t even be fighting about this, I should’ve just apologized. I’m sorry.”

Richie nods hurriedly, and opens his mouth to say, “No, it’s okay,” but Eddie cuts him off.

“It’s not okay,” he corrects, maybe a little forcefully. “You always remember this stuff. I should work on it. I should be better. I’m sorry I’m such a dick sometimes, Richie. I love you, and I’m so crazy, insanely proud of you. You’re amazing.”

Richie kisses him and hopes it counts for something. He’s too tired to say anything else.

  
  


**the one where they get married**

“Richie,” Eddie hisses in the darkness of the unlit hallway. “Rich,” he says again.

There’s a somewhat distant rustling sound coming from around the corner before Richie’s tousled hair peeks around the corner and his head pops out. Eyes wide, Richie whispers back, “Eds? You okay?”

Eddie can’t be bothered to hum a yes before running towards Richie and wrapping his arms around Richie’s waist. He screws his eyes shut, doesn’t dare look at Richie’s suit in fear of bad luck coming back from the dead and taking him away, but he tucks his head against Richie’s chest and listens closely to the sound of Richie’s heartbeat beneath his ears.

Richie barks out a laugh of surprise. “Hey, honey,” he says quietly. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Eddie admits, truthful. “Just missed you.”

Richie blushes, like he always does when Eddie says something heartfelt and cheesy like  _ I missed you _ . He tugs Eddie in closer, holds him tighter, drops a kiss on the fluff of Eddie’s brushed hair, and grins.

“Edward Francisco Kaspbrak, get your sneaky ass over here,” Mike squawks from the other end of the hallway. Before Eddie can pull away to look at Richie, maybe even to kiss him and piss all their friends off just a  _ little _ bit more, Richie pulls away and kisses Eddie cheek and spins him around and pushes him so hard he stumbles three steps forward.

When Eddie turns to glare at him, he’s already gone. All that’s left is his voice echoing down the hall, shouting, “At least wait to kill him ‘till he’s my husband, Mikey,” and then there’s nothing. Mike laughs and drags Eddie back to his room to finish getting ready, and Eddie is a little bit regretful they didn’t just elope like they were thinking about.

He stops regretting anything when he stands up at the altar and watches Beverly walk with Richie down the aisle and forgets how to _ breathe _ upon seeing Richie in the black velvet bow tie he’s donning and the stupid fucking custom socks covered in cut-outs of Ben’s face that just barely peer out under the edge of Richie’s pantleg. Eddie actually can’t regret anything because his brain is completely melted into nothing, and he’s just an empty shell of what he used to be, and all that remains in his skull is  _ RICHIE!!! _

He stands on his toes and kisses Richie before the officiant asks him to. Richie pushes him away, laughing, and asks him why he did that with a scolding voice, but only smiles when Eddie admits that he just couldn’t help himself. Bill, his best man, pinches him for it, and Eddie embarrassingly begs the officiant to ignore him and just keep going. Then, they finally make it to the  _ Eddie Kaspbrak, do you take Richie Tozier to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, for — _

But Eddie cuts off the minister with a sharp, “Jesus, yes, I fucking do, let me kiss him already.”

And Richie laughs. He smiles like Eddie single-handedly put the stars up in the sky, like Eddie is the reason the tides rise and fall, the reason the Earth orbits around the sun, the reason he still has service in the garage of their cabin in Tahoe, and Eddie is so happy to be blinded by it.

Then, with a hand around the back of Eddie’s neck, Richie pulls Eddie in for a kiss, and Eddie is still so happy to be blinded all over again.

  
  


**the one where they fall in love**

Richie spends four days by Eddie’s bedside before he moves.

Like, actually genuinely a full  _ four _ days. 96 total hours go unshowered, unwashed, unfed, unslept, etcetera. At some points, Richie decides he would rather let himself die than let himself close his eyes, but the Losers all also decide that that can absolutely not happen and take to dropping melatonins in his water bottle to make him fall asleep. It’s on the fourth day of Eddie’s hospitalization, and the second of the Losers Club drugging Richie periodically so he takes semi-regular naps, when the sarcastic and charming nurse that Richie is positive Eddie would love comes into Eddie’s room and says, “Holy shit, Boyfriend, you smell like a dumpster truck on fire.”

Her name is Elena, and she calls Richie  _ Boyfriend _ because she asked his relation at some point and Richie panicked long enough for Bill to step in and say, “He’s basically the boyfriend.” Richie tried to argue, but it was weak and he was still tongue-tied over the whole situation, so Elena never heard the well crafted counter-argument and instead just keeps calling Richie  _ Boyfriend _ .

Beverly laughs an agreement with Elena, and grabs Richie by the wrist and practically pulls him the entire way back to the hotel, forcing him to shower and sleep a full night in a bed rather than a plastic hospital chair. She explains that she won’t let Richie inside the hospital until the next day after 11 AM, and if he tries to come in earlier for  _ any _ reason besides Eddie waking up, he will be tied to his bed and locked in his room. Richie complies because he is weak and Beverly is scary.

It’s noon on the fifth day when Richie comes back to find Eddie awake, still groggy but eyes open and pupils blown, and the entire Losers Club circled around him.

“What the fuck?” Richie explodes. “Nobody thought to tell me? Of course he wakes up when I fucking leave, I can’t believe this.”

It’s quiet enough that Richie swears he can hear all of the Losers’ heartbeats from his spot across the room. Even Eddie’s heartbeat monitor seems to fade into silence. Eddie breaks it, though, and croaks out, “Bev said you were here for days.”

And yeah, he was, but Beverly didn’t need to fucking  _ say it _ . Richie just shrugs. What else is he supposed to say?  _ Yeah, I’m in love with you and I was sure you would die so I couldn’t leave your bedside until the very scary nurse roasted me and Beverly threatened to tie me up _ .

Eddie smiles,  _ still _ groggy, eyelids now fluttering under the weight of being awake for the first time in five days. “Remind me to yell at you when I wake up again,” Eddie whispers. Richie nods silently.

Then, three hours later, after Eddie’s gotten checked out and all the Losers are hanging out in the cafeteria, letting Richie have a minute with Eddie alone (not that either of them asked for it specifically; the Losers, Beverly and Stan especially, just enjoyed fucking with Richie), Eddie reaches out a tired and lazy hand for Richie to hold.

“Hey,” Eddie says weakly.

“Hey,” Richie responds.

Eddie snuffs and rolls his eyes, but when Richie laces their fingers together, it’s Eddie who squeezes lovingly. He clears his throat and his voice is a little bit louder this time when he says, “Can we talk about it now?”

“Talk about what?” Richie asks dumbly, not because he’s pretending but because he’s genuinely clueless and isn’t quite sure of what Eddie means. “Like, the clown?”

“No,” Eddie laughs. He’s sweeter like this. Unreserved. Like he isn’t holding back. “How we’re, like, in love with each other.”

Okay, that was definitely not what Richie was expecting. He was looking for something more like how he spent four days unkempt by Eddie’s bedside out of fear of losing him again, or how he carried Eddie out of Neibolt with minimal assistance from the Losers Club, or how he carved  _ R+E _ into The Kissing Bridge when he was 13 or 14 and so so so afraid of being caught, or even how he cradled the back of Eddie’s neck back in Neibolt unthinkingly and forgot he couldn’t just  _ do _ that. He wouldn’t have been surprised by Eddie calling him out for the crush he’d been harboring since middle school, but he was truly  _ startled  _ by Eddie’s bluntness in admitting his own feelings.

“What?” says Richie, now tongue-tied and wide-eyed. In front of him, Eddie snorts.

He pulls Richie’s hand up to his face and presses a light kiss to the scarred knuckles he finds there. When he blinks up at Richie, lashes dark and fluttery like curtains over his eyes, Richie’s gut twists into knots. “We’re in love with each other,” Eddie repeats, unafraid. “I know about the bridge. Didn’t you see the little  _ R _ in the heart right next to it? Come on, Rich. Don’t be stupid.”

“I am stupid,” Richie explains, as if that’s any help.

Eddie giggles, and holds Richie’s hand closer to his chest. “I love you,” Eddie says. “I know you love me too. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

And Richie was, he’d been for weeks, but here, just him and Eddie in a hospital room that smells of disinfectant and nail polish remover, Richie’s never been braver in his goddamn life.


	2. Chapter 2

hey guys! this is not an update. sorry for playing with your feelings if you expected it to be.

i know that fanfiction is supposed to be a safe place, away from the horrible reality that we live in. i know. you can skip this chapter if you want. i can't stop you. and while i don't have much of a platform on ao3 - i'm by no means a popular author, but my fics do moderately well - i do know someone, somewhere, is going to read this. and hopefully, i can educate you on something i really, really care about in the aftermath of something that really pissed me off.

so _somebody_ posted some shady shit today and i wanna take this as an opportunity to remind **non-black people** of some key things.

1\. Black lives matter. always. unconditionally. in every city, state, country, you live in. in every language you speak. in every circumstance.** Black lives matter.**

2\. believing that Black lives matter doesn't mean shit if you're not having all the provocative conversations you can have. i'm not saying pick a fight with your abusive parents, obviously, but every day you should take every opportunity possible to educate someone. tweet something. post on instagram. have a tough conversation with someone that said something hurtful. i know it's hard to sit your mom down and tell her it's fucked up when she says blue lives matter, but imagine how the world feels for Black people. 

3\. educate yourself. the movement is not over until Black people are safe. sign a petition, go to a protest, donate to a gofundme, do something, anything. 

* * *

if you're like me, youtube is your favorite resource for education. here are some great informative and helpful videos.

_ **LAST WEEK TONIGHT WITH JOHN OLIVER** _

**Ferguson, MO, and Police Militarization** <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KUdHIatS36A>

**Police Accountability ** <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zaD84DTGULo>

**Police ** <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wf4cea5oObY>

_ **JADA JONES** _

**want to be educated? this is the video for you...** <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NKGkXoF60Ik>

** _THE DAILY SHOW WITH TREVOR NOAH_ **

**America Protests Police Brutality and Systemic Racism ** <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YknhztcrURY>

_ **PATRIOT ACT WITH HASAN** _ ** MINHAJ**

**We Cannot Stay Silent About George Floyd ** <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_FE78X-qdY>

_ **TEDX TALKS ** _

**Eliminating Microaggressions: The Next Level of Inclusion (Tiffany Alvoid)** <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cPqVit6TJjw>

**50 years of racism - why silence isn't the answer (James A. White Sr.) ** <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r9DDE7NV1Nw>

_ **ROB BLISS** _

**Holding A Black Lives Matter Sign in America's Most Racist Town** <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ltmlvk9GAto>

and in my opinion, the most heart wrenching one:

_ **GREAT BIG STORY** _

**Black Lives Matter Protests Around the World** <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Vl4I0weXPU>

* * *

hopefully that moved you. if it didn't, i have nothing to say to you. if it did, here are some ways you can help.

<https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/>

> <https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/#petitions>
> 
> <https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/#donate>
> 
> <https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/#text>

[https://blacklivesmatter.com/resources/](https://blacklivesmatter.com/resources/?__cf_chl_jschl_tk__=a1ac1fa6f7f8b0a72a857a03f3b8105739500096-1599100124-0-AZTNFo8Cfx0fa3opjRHvoVtq4jxSoPuD_ADm5PUPui_-dUNRaSRV0zEdUs3Htyia-cTVITPP_CGmJaxRqn3TJnOaPUe8o2-L6jO406RTGIKG5CzXCn9WjEVXn1o_iz_93rMGLMXz2__VRpC0G7DfJiJHRILzQF3oUk2x3RkjWSV66NUnzfZ3bWJzMxyhh9E5R2IuQbPFWB2wI5mGP4YMcY8u4FDAWxTejgAYiUICsahlo5OcgAMYw91nOoZpz6to4Cv7eh_nfVehfzdhZKiG0AzF8sIXcY0UKETdaU-LstacqHmA4qIvJd1VFS_-7C6kRXtwiOVnOx6OFWwZh7JAtaMr-kMDv3DAknireXggns_5)

<https://www.manrepeller.com/2020/06/black-lives-matter-resources.html>

<https://docs.google.com/document/u/1/d/1yxj0kSC2-LzINUlfNMEV_Qi-7ZtWCTLSua3Z-9XFNqA/mobilebasic>

* * *

and here are the names you cannot forget.

<https://sayevery.name/>

* * *

the world is a big scary place, but it's even scarier when you're at risk of being murdered with no justice for the color of your skin. now is not the time to stay silent. if you are not Black, you are obligated to stand up for the Black community. your whiteness could save somebody's life.

> When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would always say to me, _Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping._
> 
> \- Fred Rogers

now is the time for you to be a helper.

change starts with us.

**Author's Note:**

> hope u all enjoyed this follow me on tumblr shazameroos.tumblr.com :D leave a comment or smthg pls! gonna do a second chapter with just some more Moments but i wanted to post this bc im excited about it :)
> 
> again the chronological explanation (letters = order in fic, numbers = order in canon)
> 
> 1\. fall in love (J)  
2\. cuddle (F)  
3\. tell the losers (B)  
4\. leave eddie’s wife (G)  
5\. tell richie’s family (D)  
6\. get engaged (C)  
7\. get married (I)  
8\. fight (H)  
9\. are famous (D)  
10\. have a dog (A)  
11\. meet the boyfriend (E)


End file.
